I’ve had three bicycles.
My first bike was a BMX.
There was once a time when everyone longed for a BMX. We all dreamt of being stunt masters; executing wheelies, somersaults and all sorts of radical crazy tricks that would woe every spectator from the toddler to the pensioner. Alas, those dreams of being a biking legend were never realised. The BMX may have been my first bike but I never rode it.
I had wanted a bike for a long while. I was with my mother at a local fair most likely after a trip to the optician or doctor. As we wandered through the labyrinth of stalls assessing the usefulness and value of various objects; clothes and ornaments, paintings and tools, we came upon that white BMX.
The white paint had become dull and dirty, the appearance of the tough red saddle was softened by a little transferrer sticker of a blue goblin, the handlebars were wrapped in soft rubber grips - this was a genuine BMX.
The bike was rugged and aged but this only added to its character.
My mam took it home and I showed it to my siblings. There was only one problem. I could not ride a bike.
My feet could not touch the ground. I did not have stabilisers or training wheels and every attempt at cycling ended with grazed knees, a bruised body and me lying in a heap on the cold hard concrete. Back then I wobbled and swayed more than a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man.
I never cycled that bike.
The next bike I got was a Falcon mountain bike. It was green, white and yellow in colour. I stowed it away in the garage while I contemplated the physics of balance and velocity. At some point our dog knocked the bike over and he ate the soft cushioned saddle. This happened long before my cheeks ever touched that saddle.
This bike was a little big for me. I tried to ride it a few times, pushed along once on the farm I wobbled and struck a wall head on. I didn't pull the brakes.
I do remember my first successful bike ride. It was a Saturday evening. My older sister had a bike-a pink one with a little basket. It's small frame meant I could comfortable throw my leg over the saddle and touch the ground. I remember the air gliding by my face, peddling harder and faster swerving around the house.
I didn't care that I was riding a little girl's bike - I was cycling!
I was soon able to climb on to and ride my own Falcon. It was kitted out with Kellogg's reflectors of multiple colours.
I had punctures and I had chain trouble.
At the age of 10 I felt it was time for an upgrade.
I decided Christmas was the best opportunity and I asked Santa to go about this task.
My new bike came with a selection box on Christmas day. A beautiful black 'Raven' by Raleigh. It was shiny, the wheels were hard and it offered more control with the precise 10 speed gears on it. I was overjoyed and as soon as it was daylight I hopped on and took it for a cruise up the road.
I have never had a bike since. It lies at home now, as good as the first day, the Raven with the rugged Falcon in a dusty corner of the garage and the BMX rusting in the overgrowth behind a wall.
Three bikes at 3 very different times in a boy's life. I often look at the cyclists in Vienna and think to myself how I'd like to belong to those ranks of wheelers that glide to their destination or climb mountainous peaks powered only by their determination, perspiration and thirst for adventure.
Maybe it's time to invest in a new bike.
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